


The Red Herring Affair

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ages ago when I was watching the NCIS episode 'Witness' in which Ducky precedes to regale Palmer with the meaning of a red herring which, of course, led me to thinking of the U.N.C.L.E. episode 'Foxes and Hounds'.  That provided the title, which led to having to come up with a story to go with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red Herring Affair

“I’m not sure I can do this, Illya. I’m just not sure.” 

Illya Kuryakin, showing signs of amusement, looked across at his partner’s color-drained face. They were currently in the small office allotted him in the lab.

Less than ten minutes previously they had been in the office of Alexander Waverly. Waverly had been pacing back and forth, reminding Kuryakin of a caged lion. 

Waverly had finally stopped pacing long enough to say. “I am sure the two of you are aware of the rumors that your relationship with one another is something more than professional.” 

Napoleon cocked an eyebrow toward Illya, silently asking what the hell Waverly was talking about.

Illya gave a slight shake of his head. He was pretty sure he knew, but didn’t want to say anything right then. The rumors had been around for years, Napoleon just had never been aware of them. 

“Thrush is undoubtedly aware of this rumor. Section One has an important operation on-going and we want to use this rumor as a red herring.”

“Are we to be briefed on the operation?” Napoleon asked.

“No, it has been deemed best that the two of you remain ignorant. What you don’t know you cannot be forced to tell. We would like for you to confirm that the rumors about the two of you are true.”

“Just how far are we to go to accomplish this?” Illya asked, keeping his voice level.

“As far as it takes to get the job done,” Waverly replied grimly.

Illya nodded and the two agents had been dismissed.

Outside Waverly’s office, Napoleon stopped Illya’s retreat. “Just exactly what was that all about?”

Illya told him. Napoleon’s mouth dropped open and he followed his partner into the lab area where they were now.

“I don’t see what the problem is, Napoleon. After all, this is just another assignment,” Illya said.

Napoleon stared at Illya as if he had suddenly developed two heads. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve thought about…?” Napoleon asked, shocked. 

“Of course not,” Illya said with a sigh of exasperation. He had no more thought about Napoleon that way than Napoleon had thought of him. Simply put, Napoleon was the most heterosexual person he knew. He loved women and being with another man that way just never would have occurred to him. Illya loved women, too. He just was not as sexually active as Napoleon. Even though Illya was no more into men than Napoleon, it was not as if he had never been propositioned before.   
IK&NS

It was closing time, but Illya is a regular so they let him in. He approached the piano, where Martin, dark hair and sporting a goatee, was playing softly. Martin’s green eyes looked up and a huge smile lit his face. Martin removed the cigarette from his mouth. “Hey, Daddy-O. Give me some skin. Hey, Rick, bring a drink over here for this cool cat. Vodka, right?”

Illya nodded and sat down next to Martin on the piano bench. Now that he was here he wasn’t sure just how to word his request. He thought Martin might be amenable, though it had been ages since Illya had been propositioned by his hippy friend. Martin, at the time, had taken Illya’s polite refusal in stride.

Going back to playing the piano Martin asked, “Hey man, like what’s happenin? Somethin I can do for ya?”

Illya took a deep breath and glanced around the room, relieved to see that it was empty except for the bartender, Martin, and himself. “Yes, I need a favor.”

“Lay it on me, man.”

“I have a friend,” Illya admitted, unable to look Martin in the eye. “with whom I would like a closer relationship.” Okay so it was a bit of a fib.

Martin stopped playing long enough to look closely at the Russian as he took another drag from his cigarette. “I take it your compadre is… like… straight?”

“Ohhhh, yesss,” Illya said grimly. 

“I can dig it.” Martin nodded, his fingers once again moving across the keyboard. “What’s the dude’s attitude?”

“He is somewhat…reluctant.”

Martin looked fondly at Illya, removing his hands from the keyboard to concentrate on his friend. “Sorta like you. You still got your cherry?” he asked. At the look of puzzlement on Illya’s face he tried again. “You still a virgin?” When Illya turned his head away, he reached over, placing his hand on Illya’s thigh. 

Illya moved Martin’s hand, sighing. “Perhaps if you told me what it is I need to do.”

Martin let out a roar of laughter. “Man, this ain’t something you tell.” Then his tone turned more seductive. “Let me show you.”

“Mar-tin!” Illya warned.

Martin gave a reluctant shrug, than looked over at the bartender who was drying glasses. “Heavy. Hey, Richard,” he called. “meet me upstairs.”

“Sure thing, Marty,” Rick’s deep baritone called back.

Stubbing out his cigarette, Martin got up and, taking Illya by the hand, called over his shoulder, “Oh and bring a few bottles with you.” He looked at Illya’s grim face. “I think we’re going to need them.”

Illya allowed Martin to lead him up the stairway at the back of the club. Martin was an old friend, their friendship going back to the days when Illya first arrived in New York. The two had a good bit in common. Both were much the same build, played several musical instruments, and were big into jazz music. Martin’s sexual orientation had never been an issue; in fact right now it could come in handy. If he and Napoleon were to succeed in their assignment Illya was going to need all the help he could get.

Martin opened a door at the top of stair and flicked on a light switch before stepping aside to let Illya pass. “Man, welcome to my pad.”

Illya scanned the room, curious. The room was small; a small desk in one corner denoting that this was Martin’s office. For Martin LaCour was the owner of this small exclusive club. On the far side of the room was a leather futon. Large fur pillows and two large black leather beanbags littered the floor surrounding the futon.

Martin, his head tilted to one side, leaned against his desk. “Man, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on that sweet bod of yours for years.”

“And you will not now,” Illya said firmly. He told himself he was only doing this for U.N.C.L.E. After all, it was best if one of them knew what he was doing.

Martin shrugged, and a wicked smile lit his face. “Don’t flip your wig, it was worth a shot.” Then he dropped the slang. “What is it you need to know?”

Illya looked away, feeling his face flush. “I hate to admit it, but my knowledge in this area is shamefully limited.”

“Hang loose, man,” Martin said as the bartender entered the room with a tray containing two bottles and some glasses.

The bartender canted an inquiring eye at Martin.

“Rick baby, we’re gonna instruct my friend here on what it’s like to be…us,” Martin said pouring a stiff glass of vodka. “Show this cool cat how to score.”

Rick cast a lascivious eye towards the U.N.C.L.E. agent, smacking his lips in anticipation.

“Put that tongue back in, man, and show the man your family jewels.”

Rick, his light hair cut in a crew cut, grinned widely. He drew his t-shirt over his head, proudly displaying his muscular pecks. The man was all muscle, reminiscent of many Thrush underlings and others. Then he undid his pants, letting them drop to the floor.

“Nice, huh,” Martin said, moved behind his employee to stroke his, considering his muscular structure, rather small round ass. Then he moved his hand to fondle Rick’s well hung cock. With a wickedly seductive smile, Martin caught Illya’s eyes. “Let the fun begin.”

IK&NS

Four eventful and educational hours later found Illya pounding on Napoleon’s apartment door. The door opened and there stood Napoleon wrapping his robe around himself. Illya brushed past him, his libido in overdrive. Things had gone wrong – drastically wrong. 

“Illya, what’s the matter?” Napoleon asked.

Illya turned and looked at Napoleon, his body burning. 'This is for the assignment, this is for Waverly, this is for U.N.C.L.E.', he told himself over and over. For four hours he had sat and watched, as Martin and Rick did things to each other that Illya knew Napoleon would never ever let him do. With each passing moment Illya did his best to control his urges, as they got stronger and stronger. He remembered Martin, moaning repeatedly with pleasure as Rick took him from behind. Martin’s pale green eyes looking back at him from beneath Rick’s body. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Man? Ahhhh, it feels so good. Ummmm, join us.”

Napoleon was standing in front of the sofa. How to approach him? What would he like? Kissing? Martin had been quite thorough in educating Illya. Using Rick he had shown all the different ways of pleasing a man, and being pleased by one. Illya moved swiftly, one hand gripping Napoleon behind the neck, and brought their lips together. 

The next thing he knew he was falling to the floor as Napoleon pushed him away. Napoleon sank onto the sofa, a look of mingled horror and disgust evident upon his face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Illya?” Napoleon asked, his voice taking on a husky quality.

Illya wasn’t thinking, he was feeling. Feelings that he had never acknowledged were swarming through him. Rather than standing up, he moved to his knees between Napoleon’s splayed legs. Locking his eyes with Napoleon’s he heard a sharp intake of breath as he brought one hand to Napoleon’s knee, sliding it up a lightly haired thigh. Napoleon’s eyes were dark, expressionless. The hand slowly moved higher beneath the robe, Illya caught his breath as he realized there were no boxers to obstruct his exploration.

“Napoleon darling, what’s keeping you?” floated from the direction of the bedroom.

Illya backed away quickly as if scalded. He was up and out the door before Napoleon could even respond.

IK&NS

Illya shut and locked the door to his apartment, then leaned his head against it. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berated himself. He should have known Napoleon would not have been alone. He realized that Martin had deliberately gone out of his way to manipulate him. Doing things that would titillate him, get him wound up. Martin had started slowly with jerking Rick off, then moved swiftly to sucking, having Rick do the honors. Rick’s recovery time was amazing, and they soon moved to a position that Martin explained was called a sixty-nine. It was strangely surreal as Martin calmly and patiently explained each and every move as they did it. Rick proved amazingly vocal and when Martin had put a finger… Illya squelched that thought. He needed a shower, a loooong cold shower.

As the cold water ran down his bare back, Illya did his best to get his overactive imagination back under control. Only it was not his imagination. He had known, of course, the basics of what was done, but he had never actually witnessed nor participated in it. One of his greatest assets was his ability to appear untouched, impassive, and deceptively harmless. His control was normally paramount; more so then Napoleon’s. If he was in a situation where relief with someone was impossible he had his trusty hand. That would not work now. He was no longer untouched or impassive. 

He had just barely managed to resist Martin’s overtures, sitting there watching as his friend and the bartender moaned and grunted their way to completion not once but several times in more ways then he would have thought possible until he could take it no longer. He had bolted from the room, not even sure that the two men noticed, to make his ill-fated visit to Napoleon.

His head came up with a start, and he looked over his shoulder at the closed bathroom door as a sound penetrated his thoughts. Someone was in his apartment. Leaving the water running, he snatched up a towel, wrapping the thin terrycloth around his hips, and silently opening the bathroom door, slipping through. He swiftly picked up his gun from the dresser as he passed through his bedroom.

With great stealth, his bare feet silently moving across the floor, he burst into the living area hoping to catch whoever it was by surprise. He pulled up short when he found that his unexpected visitor, sitting on his sofa wrapped in a tan trench coat, was Napoleon.

Illya stood there, dripping on the carpet, as Napoleon turned to look him squarely in the eye. “Do you want to tell me what the hell that was all about?” Napoleon growled.

Illya turned away, tossing his gun to a side table. No, he didn’t want to tell, but he knew that he would anyway. Keeping his back to Napoleon, running a hand through his damp hair, he took a deep breath straightened his shoulders then said with no small amount of embarrassment, “A misguided attempt at enhancing our mission. Earlier this evening.” Had it only been several hours? “I went to see a friend of mine about our…assignment.”

“You told someone?” Napoleon exclaimed as he leaned forward, his eyes firmly on Illya’s nearly nude body.

Illya shook his wet head, scattering drops as he did so. “Don’t be ridiculous. I mentioned it in general terms.” He glanced over his shoulder to see how Napoleon was taking this. “We…I needed to know what we would be…up against.”

Napoleon looked stunned. “You’re friends with a queer?”

Illya was annoyed; he didn’t choose his friends for their sexual orientation. “I wish you wouldn’t use that word. We have a lot in common.”

“You mean you let some fag-” 

Illya turned around so fast his towel slipped. “No!” he said, his eyes flashing, as he clutched the skimpy towel tightly around his middle. “No.” he said more quietly once he regained control over himself. 

“So you just …talked,” Napoleon sneered.

“No,” Illya said hesitantly, mentally preparing to defend himself should Napoleon attack him. “I watched.” His stomach twisted at the look of disgust on Napoleon’s face. “You heard Waverly. This affair … assignment is important. I…we…cannot let our…personal feelings about it….” His explanation petered off as Napoleon rose from the sofa and moved into his personal space.

Napoleon caught his partner by the shoulders and looked deeply into Illya’s eyes, trying to read him. “And we are good little soldiers.”

“I do as I am told,” Illya admitted.

Napoleon pulled closer, breathing into Illya’s ear, causing the Russian to curse the thinness of his towel. “And the kiss?”

Illya looked down to the floor as he bit down on his lower lip. “It was, perhaps, a mistake.”

Napoleon brought one finger under his chin, raising it. “I think not,” he breathed as he lowered his lips and used that one finger to caress his partner’s smooth chest.

Now Illya was totally confused. The scent of the woman Napoleon had left was still with him and while Illya might have wished to continue he pushed Napoleon away.

Napoleon looked quizzically into the dark blue eyes, reading in them something that made him sniff the air. “Might I borrow your shower?” he asked apologetically, before heading in that direction without waiting for a response.

Illya collapsed on the sofa. Something was not right; Napoleon was giving in much too easily. He stretched out, covering his head with his arm, desperately willing his aroused cock to go down. It did not help that he recalled the seemingly wicked delight Martin had taken as he explained step-by-step what he was doing to his employee for Illya’s benefit. 

“Ricky baby, you like sucking me don’t you?” Martin has asked, looking down and caressing the other man’s hair. “Note how easily he takes it all in. Show the man how easy it is, how much you just love my cock. That’s it, like that. Ohhhahhh, soooo gooood.” Martin’s eyes, shut in ecstasy, opened and stared deeply into Illya’s. “Sure you don’t want to join in?” Illya thought uneasily that he wasn’t sure at all. The session had escalated to a point where Illya had no recourse but to leave, his presence in the room all but forgotten.

Illya heard the water in the shower shut off, then the door opened and closed again. He snatched a peek and burst out laughing. There stood Napoleon, his hair damp, securely wrapped in his trench coat. The effect caused a mental image that was most comical. 

“I couldn’t find a bathrobe.” Napoleon blushed.

Perhaps he was aware how much it made him look like a caricature of the men who go around flashing people, Illya thought as he turned aside, the knot in his towel slipping. “You couldn’t just use a towel?”

Napoleon was doing his best not notice. Unfortunately it was not good enough. The front of his trench coat began to tent and he hurriedly sat down to cover his reaction.

Illya shifted around until he was sitting up on the sofa edge and stared intently at Napoleon. “For what reason have you changed your mind? I know you find this assignment…repulsive.”

Napoleon was looking everywhere but at him.

“I admire your dedication to duty.” Napoleon’s eyes finally locked on Illya’s, not so much to read them as to avoid looking at the trim body that was seductively exposed. “How can I be any less dedicated?”

Illya nodded, wanting to accept that for now. His body still strummed with want so he moved from the sofa, leaving his towel behind, and slowly sank between Napoleon’s parted knees. How to start? It was like dealing with a frightened deer. Napoleon’s reluctance was still obvious, but he was encouraged for according to Martin, Ricky too had also been totally straight once.

Moving his hand to the top button of the trench coat, Illya whispered, “Let me.” waiting for Napoleon’s stiff nod before slowly, gingerly unbuttoning each button, pausing at the waist to undo the tied belt. He found himself holding his breath as he spread the coat apart, sliding it off the broad shoulders, baring Solo’s chest to his gaze. He ran one hand over the lightly furred chest, his thumb passing over a pert nipple. What was it Martin had said? Something about a man’s nipple being hotwired to his cock. Now was his chance to find out. Leaning in, he lapped at the right one, then blew lightly on it. The moan falling from Napoleon’s lips left him smiling. He looked down and noticed the tenting was even more pronounced under the trench coat. Letting his fingers do the walking, he unbuttoned the rest of the coat, pushing it aside to expose a thoroughly aroused cock. 

Letting his arms rest on Napoleon’s thighs, Illya sat back on his heels and examined the organ closely. He’d never really considered but he had somehow always assumed it would be…what? …longer?...thicker? What on earth was he doing, sitting here cataloging another man’s, especially Napoleon’s, what did the Americans call it…a dick? The world has gone mad and he along with it.

Illya kept telling himself he was doing this for U.N.C.L.E. Or was he? This was all strange, new, forbidden, and oddly exciting. He’d never been excited in this way before. He lowered his mouth.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Was that fear he heard in Napoleon’s voice? Surely not.

That decided it. Illya’s mouth engulfed the stiff pole, and it was stiff. Napoleon wasn’t that afraid of this, though he had given every indication of being reluctant. Illya sucked, feeling strangely detached from his actions. 

The muscles of Napoleon’s thighs tightened as he exploded into Illya’s mouth. Illya swallowed reflexively; there wasn’t a lot. Considering Napoleon’s activities that evening it wasn’t surprising. 

Illya backed away and finally dared look at Napoleon’s face. Napoleon’s eyes were shut, his lips clamped tightly together. Slowly the eyes opened. The dark brown eyes looked dazed, mingled with a combination of confusion, disbelief, and something else. Illya was not sure what. He recognized the look. It was a look he’d seen before, after they had been through an unusually bad session of torture.

Illya rose to his feet, backing away, all his attention focused on his partner, waiting for Napoleon to snap out of it. Napoleon always did – usually within minutes. Napoleon looked positively drained in more ways then one.

Napoleon stood up, his trench coat gaping open before falling unnoticed to the floor. “I guess… I should leave.” He voiced as if unsure.

“Stay.” Illya responded tentatively. “We don’t have to be at work until Monday. We might as well get into character.”

“Yes…of course.” Napoleon’s response was vague, as if he were mentally elsewhere. He moved slowly toward the bedroom door. He paused, not turning around, to ask in the same vague sort of way. “Have you… a spare pair of pajamas?”

Illya looked critically at the bare back. A back he had so often seen, but never paid attention to. The cheeks of Napoleon’s ass were less round and slightly wider then his own. He mentally compared the shape to the width of his pajamas. “I doubt very much that they would fit you.”

“Yes. Of course.” Napoleon nodded absently before continuing into the bedroom.

Illya frowned, Napoleon appeared to be traumatized, which had not been his intention at all. He looked down at his own neglected erection. Shaking his head, he moved to the bathroom, grabbed a wad of toilet tissue and jerked himself off, thinking this affair definitely one-sided. Catching his seed in the tissue, he tossed it into the commode, flushing it.

Entering the bedroom, he glanced at the clock. It was already eight o’clock, Saturday morning. Where had the night gone? Napoleon was curled at the edge of the double bed, his back to the center. Illya drew the drapes, shutting out the sunlight, and slipped onto the other side. Perhaps when they awoke, Napoleon would be back to normal.

The previous night’s events had left him exhausted, so he was not surprised when he awoke and his clock read two-thirty. Illya was also not surprised when he sat up and looked to the other side of the bed to find it empty. He called out and received no answer. Perhaps last night’s activities had all been a dream. Passing into the living room on his way to the kitchen, a trench coat still puddled on the floor convinced him it had not been.

In a way Napoleon’s behavior surprised him. The man had the sexual appetite of a barracuda. Why was he so uneasy about male sex? Illya himself had never thought about it much, but he was having no problems with the idea.

IK&NS

Not having heard anything from Napoleon over the rest of the weekend, Illya was somewhat anxious when he arrived at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters Monday morning. 

Pausing before entering their shared office, Illya took a deep breath to steady himself.

“You’re late,” Napoleon’s tone was clipped.

“Sorry.” Was Napoleon trying to put him on the defensive? Illya spared a quick glance at his partner, who was immersed in paper work. “I didn’t sleep well.” Illya sucked in a deep breath, why had he said that? It was true, his weekend had been spent on pins and needles wondering what Napoleon’s reaction would be this morning. He looked at his inbox, noting its fullness and almost grateful for once that there would be plenty of paperwork to keep him occupied. 

Throughout the morning, Napoleon would make casual remarks, evidently with the intention of privately maintaining that nothing had ever happened. One would have thought it was a normal Monday, except for the fact that Napoleon’s eyes never once met Illya’s.

“Ready for some lunch?” Napoleon asked about midday.

Illya had finally had enough. “Napoleon, this is not going to work if you continue to constantly avoid looking at me.”

This got Napoleon’s attention; he finally turned his gaze toward his Russian partner. “You’re right.” He paused before continuing. “I’m just not sure what to say…what to do. How to react around you.”

“Act toward me the way you normally would,” Illya spoke exasperatedly. “People have been saying this about us long before now. And we were not doing anything.”

Napoleon considered the statement, then let out a soft chuckle. “You’re right, of course.” 

Illya stood up, ready to head for the commissary. “I usually am. Now about that lunch?”

His words were interrupted by a request for them to report to Mr. Waverly’s office. The two men walked down the corridors as they had done so many times before. Illya wasn’t sure, but it seemed there was something different in the air. Perhaps it was his imagination.

Mr. Waverly’s back was to them as they entered the office. “Don’t bother to sit down, gentlemen.”

The two men exchanged startled glances.

“Things are coming to a head. There is a flight leaving LaGuardia in two hours. You will find your tickets upon the table.” 

“Yes, sir,” the two said in unison, as Napoleon picked up the tickets. A quick glance showed that it was a transatlantic flight. 

They waited a moment for a further briefing; when it looked as if nothing would be forthcoming they finally turned away. Before they made it to the door, Mr. Waverly called out, “Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon, pocketing the tickets, turned in response. “Sir?”

“Do try to leave the ladies alone for now.” Waverly finally turned to face his two top agents, an unusual twinkle in his eye.

“Yes, sir,” Napoleon said grimly as he and Illya exited the room. 

Halfway to the elevator Illya remarked, “Asking the impossible isn’t he?” before flashing a smug smile at the glare the remark produced. The smile stayed there until they arrived at the security exit, and Illya plucked Napoleon’s badge from his lapel and passed it over with his. A move designed to keep the receptionist’s charming fingers away from his partner. All in the interest of U.N.C.L.E., of course.

Once outside, Illya moved around the front of the convertible. “I’ll drive.”

“Why?” Napoleon queried, as he automatically moved to the passenger side.

Illya got in and held out his hand for the keys. “I don’t think you are in any condition to drive.”

Passing over the keys, Napoleon slammed the door, irked that his partner could read him so well. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the tickets. Waverly’s parting shot had gotten to him, upsetting him for a reason he could not name.

“We are being followed,” Illya said quietly, breaking into Napoleon’s thoughts.

Napoleon moved slightly, looking through the side view mirror. “Are you sure?”

“The same car has made the last two turns with us.”

“Could be a coincidence.”

“Perhaps.” Illya made an unexpected turn at the next corner. The car in question made the turn also. “Evidently not.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“We are supposed to be the Red Herrings,” Illya reminded him as he pulled up in front of Solo’s apartment building. “Perhaps we should give them something…to tantalize them,” he remarked as he scooted out of the driver’s seat to slide out of the passenger side of the car after Napoleon.

“What did you have in mind?” Napoleon asked nervously.

“Nothing overt,” Illya said moving a bit closer to his partner then normal. “I shall just come with you as you collect your luggage.”

Napoleon nodded his agreement. He spotted the driver of the other car out of the corner of his eye, even as he wondered exactly what Illya had in mind. They walked to the elevator and entered, Illya much closer than usual. Napoleon caught the look on the man’s face as the elevator doors closed and Illya backed off. Illya had done nothing that could have been even remotely construed as sexual, yet the look on the other man’s face said otherwise. And Illya knew it.

IK&NS

Boarding the plane, both agents were directed to the first class section. Illya checked the coach section, as was his custom, spotting two familiar faces of Thrush agents. He turned to slide into the window seat, only to find that Napoleon was already seated there, staring out the window. Illya gave a mental shrug and assumed the aisle seat. Normally Napoleon sat there, the better to flirt with the stewardesses. 

As the flight got underway, Illya became increasingly aware of the reason for the seating change. The stewardesses for this flight showed up at increasing intervals, to offer magazines, drinks, and to check if the two agents, Napoleon in particular, needed anything.

Illya found it amusing to watch as Napoleon tried politely to ignore first one then the other of the beautiful flight attendants without much success. 

A redheaded attendant was currently leaning over Kuryakin asking for the fourth time. “Can I get you anything? Anything at all?”

Napoleon was staring determinedly out the window. Illya looked up at the beautiful and disappointed face. “No, thank you.”

It was increasingly obvious the effect the attendants were having on Napoleon, as he squirmed, first crossing one leg then the other to hide his discomfort. Illya finally took pity on him, leaned close, and suggested softly, “Why do you not make use of the lavatory?”

Napoleon turned toward him, startled by the suggestion. He turned away, as if to think it over, nodded and stood to slide past Illya, the tenting in his slacks noticeable. Illya, careful not to look at his partner, caught Napoleon’s arm before he could move and held out the magazine he had been perusing. He let out a soft chuckle as the magazine was removed from his hand.

Illya gave Napoleon a couple of moments to get there, then stood and headed back toward the lavatories. He gave a quick glance at the Thrush agents, pleased that they were pretending to ignore him, and tapped on the lavatory door, whispering, “Napoleon, it’s me.” A moment passed and he tapped softly again. “Let me in.”

It seemed a while before the door opened and Illya slid in. “What are you doing here?” Napoleon hissed.

“Providing fuel for our cover,” Illya whispered back. Their bodies were close, the room being small, even by international flight standards. He looked down, noting a zipper that was halfway undone. Bravely, he moved even closer, his hand stroking the bulge that hardened under his manipulations. He unzipped and pulled out the very aroused organ.

Napoleon was letting out strangled moans, striving hard to keep them from escaping. As Illya’s hand enveloped his penis, he said, with a mixture of wanting and uncertainty. “You’re not planning to…?”

Illya smiled mirthlessly. Napoleon was obviously expecting a blow job. “Sorry, there is not enough room.” He reached behind Napoleon to pull several sheets of paper toweling from its receptacle as he serviced Napoleon’s erection. Keeping his hand moving over the aroused organ, Napoleon’s hand covered his, guiding the tempo, as his breathing grew harsher. Illya turned his head aside, not wanting to see Napoleon’s face as he came. Illya resisted the urge to bury his face in Napoleon’s neck and kiss him there. It was hard to maintain a detached attitude when you were jerking off a fellow agent.

It didn’t take long before Napoleon let out a groan, the tissue catching the endless stream of white, creamy fluid. Illya felt Napoleon’s head drop to his shoulder, the American panting as he tried to regain control of himself. Tossing the tissues down the commode, Illya tucked the limp organ back into Napoleon’s slacks. Determined not to look at his partner, Illya spoke softly, “Go back to your seat. I will follow.” 

Napoleon drew away slightly, nodded before slipping past, without a word, out the narrow door. 

Once Napoleon was gone, Illya stared at his reflection in the mirror. Was he the same man who just three days ago had followed his partner into Waverly’s office? The face that looked back held no answers. With a sigh of resignation he washed his hands and left the cubicle, not bothering to check on the Thrush agents as he made his way to the front of the plane.

Napoleon was staring out the port as Illya slid into his seat and Illya wondered if he was embarrassed about what had just occurred. His posture certainly seemed to indicate that he regretted it. For the rest of the flight neither man spoke to the other.

IK&NS

 

Illya followed Napoleon off the airplane into the Rome terminal. When they reached the hotel he planned on having a long talk with his partner. Pulling his luggage from the turn around, he was caught off guard at hearing Napoleon exclaim. “Gemma!”

“Ciao, Napoleon.” Gemma looked much the same as when they had last seen her, her blonde hair curled atop her head, then with a cooler nod to the Russian agent, she said, “Illya.” 

“We were not expecting anyone to meet us.” Illya wasn’t sure, but her voice sounded a bit cold when she addressed him.

Gemma ignored him, turning to Napoleon to say in a voice that carried, “You will be wanting your usual accommodations, of course?”

The two agents looked at each other in puzzlement. Their usual accommodations? What did that mean?

Gemma moved closer to Napoleon, taking his arm, and brought her mouth to his ear to murmur, “Thrush is everywhere.” 

Napoleon nodded his understanding, his expression saying as he caught sight of Illya’s raised brow, I’ll tell you later.

“Perhaps I can change your mind,” Gemma said coyly, her voice overly loud as she backed away slightly. She laughed shrilly, the put-on laugh she had used during the King of Knaves Affair and Illya understood. This was all an act to confuse the enemy. Unfortunately it was confusing him too.

“Come, the car is this way.” Taking Napoleon’s arm and all but plastering herself against him, Gemma led the way. 

Exasperated Illya picked up their luggage and followed. 

Once settled into the back of the chauffer-driven limo, Gemma eyed the two agents, comparing what she knew of them to the rumors that now flew. Something was definitely different; she could feel it. Napoleon was not using his natural charm in the manner he normally did. Whether the rumors were true or not, she did not know nor did she care.

“U.N.C.L.E. has provided you with a lovely suite at the Hotel Intercontinental.” Gemma sounded almost envious. “Perhaps when this assignment is ended we can make use of it. It is undoubtedly suitably bugged, of course, and your Mr. Waverly has asked that you forgo your usual thoroughness and leave a few.” She not-so-subtly moved closer to Napoleon, letting her hand straying to his thigh, doing her best to get a reaction from him. She knew he found her attractive and had an overwhelming urge to seduce him. 

Illya turned away, pretending interest in the scenery, divorcing himself from the proceedings. Gemma was being overly provocative. Gemma had always seemed partial to Napoleon, but now she going overboard. He shut his ears, not wanting to hear anymore. He felt overwhelming relief when they arrived at the hotel.

Gemma scooted over after they vacated the car, and leaned out the open window as the chauffer retrieved their luggage from the trunk. “I was told that tomorrow is soon enough for you to report in.” She pulled something out of her purse and passed it to Napoleon; it was a room key. “You have already been checked in, room 369. Arrividerci,” she said as she sat back and waved the driver on.

“I’m hungry,” Illya said as they watched the limo pull away. “Can we eat first?”

Napoleon smiled his first smile of the day. “Sure, I know just the place.”

“Not the same one you never found the last time we were here, I hope,” Illya complained.

“But of course.” Napoleon arranged for their luggage to be taken to their room before turning to lead the way down a side street.

It soon became apparent that they were being followed. Illya wondered what they would think if he took Napoleon’s hand and held it. With a sigh of regret, Illya mentioned under his breathe. “We have company.”

“Yes, I know.” On their arrival Napoleon led the way through the restaurant door. “Let them.”

An enchanting Italian waitress, leading them to a booth designed for privacy, handed them menus. Her eyes lingering meaningfully on Napoleon before she left. Napoleon, manfully tried to ignore the obvious invitation and perused the menu in the dim lighting while Illya fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers, the vase of flowers, and even checked the underside of the table. Quite a few female patrons seemed to find reasons to pass by their table, some smiling provocatively, others merely brushing against the back of Napoleon’s chair. It seemed every female in the place was intent upon trying to entice Napoleon.

The waitress taking their order all but flung herself at Napoleon as he placed the order. The server fortunately was male, but even he seemed to give the American the once over. The food was, as Napoleon had promised, wonderful and Illya settled down to enjoy it, though not for long. Napoleon was pushing the pasta around on the plate, picking at his food. Illya set down his fork, letting out a sigh. “Okay, out with it.” Napoleon glanced up and shook his head, indicating he didn’t want to talk. “There are no bugs, I checked,” Illya insisted.

Unable to look his partner in the eye, Napoleon took a long sip of his wine before admitting. “It’s just galling to know that people thing I am gay.” 

“Is that all?” Illya shrugged then went back to enjoying his food. “They don’t, you know.” Napoleon cocked a questioning eyebrow. 

“It has been said that I have…morally corrupted you. I am the one assumed gay.”

“Are you?”

“I am no more that way then you are,” Illya assured him. He took a sip of his wine before continuing. “It is also well known that you do not score as often as you would have us believe. I am assumed to be taking up the slack.”

“Just because when a woman says no I take her at her word?”

“Very gallant of you. But essentially, yes.”

“Oh god…what is this world coming to,” Napoleon swore. 

“Finish your food,” Illya suggested.

 

The two agents left after consuming two bottles of wine then leaving a tip a bit lighter than Napoleon was normally used to. They started back to their hotel, their two shadows following.

Napoleon, whether from the wine consumed or the frustration level of being forced to not react in his usual fashion to women, pulled Illya into a nitch as they rounded a corner. When the two Thrush agents came after them, Napoleon moved behind one, clipping him behind the neck with a karate chop. Illya, not to be outdone, rabbit-punched the other one.

“Feeling better?” Illya asked.

“Much,” Napoleon responded, flexing his fingers.

“What do you plan to do with them?” Illya studied the unconscious bodies with interest.

Napoleon considered the question. “Let’s just leave ‘em.” Without further discussion he led the way back to the hotel in silence. Illya was worried. There was an edge to Napoleon that their little bit of action had not managed to take off. The two agents climbed the winding stairway, heading straight to their room, bypassing the hotel desk. 

Napoleon used the key to enter and they stopped in the entryway, shocked. The Regina Hotel Baglioni was one of the top hotels in Rome and the room they had been assigned was opulent. For the first time since this assignment started the hedonist in Napoleon was satisfied. Napoleon did like his creature comforts.

Illya was impressed in spite of himself. The room was huge with decorative moldings, silk upholstered walls, and rich wood furnishings, the main feature being a king-sized bed and the beveled mirror that hung above the headboard. Napoleon found the first bug inset in the headboard of the king-size bed and was preparing to destroy it when Illya’s hand caught his, stopping him. 

“Illya?” 

Illya raised his hand to silence his partner. Further searching of the room would have to wait. They needed to talk. He headed for the bathroom. Napoleon followed, stopping in the doorway, and watched as the marble tiled bathroom was expertly searched. When Illya was certain it contained no listening devices he turned on the water using it to mask their conversation, just in case. That done, he turned, leaning back against the marble sink, to face his partner. “Are you going to be okay with this?”

Napoleon tilted his head to one side questioningly.

“You do realize we are supposed to be convincing Thrush that we are…lovers. That is what this is all about.” Illya waved his hand, indicating the luxury of the room. “It is why we are here.”

Napoleon closed his eyes; his face was flushed, and his arms wrapped tightly around himself as if to hold something in. He nodded. “It’s just if only…”

“Napoleon? You usually have better control then this.” Illya reached out, stopping short of touching his partner.

“I know,” Napoleon gasped. “I’m beginning to wonder if there was something in our wine.”

Illya canted an eyebrow.

“An aphrodisiac or something. Ever since Waverly said no women, I’ve…” He let the sentence die.

Illya had a pretty good idea what he meant though. He was sure Napoleon, even though he might deny it, had enjoyed what they had done. Taking a deep breath, he hesitated to suggest. “There are ways…women are not always necessary…” 

Napoleon turned away, blushing, running fingers through his hair, “No! I draw the line at that. There has got to be another way.”

Illya knew how hard this would be on his American partner. Unable to think of another option, he repeated, “So. Are you going to be okay with this?” 

“I don’t know,” Napoleon admitted. “I better be. Don’t suppose we could fake it?” As Illya, with a slight quirk of his mouth, shook his head to indicate his doubt, Napoleon’s head dropped with resignation.

Illya pushed away from the sink and turned off the water. He stopped alongside Napoleon to place a comforting hand on his shoulder before resuming a professional search of the room. They had been silent much too long. What could they say, what could they do that would lead Thrush to continue to believe that their assumption of their relationship was correct?

Deep in thought, Illya was taken by surprise as Napoleon’s hands gripped his upper arms from behind. “Now that the inner man has been taken care of, what can we do about the outer?” Napoleon said huskily in his ear. 

Illya let out a smirk; trust Napoleon to have an answer to his unspoken question. “What do you have in mind?”

Napoleon’s hands gently turned him around and Illya found his mouth being devoured. Consummate professional that Napoleon was, Illya should have known he would do whatever he had to no matter if he wanted to or not. The problem, Illya thought when he was capable of thinking, was that he could well get use to Napoleon’s kisses. 

Clothes mysteriously vanished, bedding was pulled back and two very masculine bodies arranged themselves on the large bed. 

“Please,” Napoleon murmured hoarsely, virtually begging for release.

Illya brought his head down, his mouth encompassing the swollen organ. Considering the sounds Napoleon was making, Illya thought that even though this was only his second time to give head, he must be doing very well. Oddly he found himself enjoying the experience. Closing his eyes, mimicking the memories of Rick and Martin together, he idly wondered if he should. It felt strange but nice to have Napoleon murmuring soft phrases of encouragement as he ran his fingers though the blond hair while Illya sucked him off. Thankfully Napoleon’s hand was no longer in Illya’s hair when his orgasm hit and he exploded into the Russian’s mouth.  
The flow seemed to go on and on, so much so that Illya had to wipe away the excess that had escaped.

Napoleon, now thoroughly depleted, was fast asleep. Once again needing his trusty right hand to achieve his own release, Illya was thankful no cameras had been planted. He slipped out of the bed, heading for the bathroom to take care of his problem. When he was finished, he washed his hands, his eyes falling to the counter and the little items supplied by the hotel. He picked each one up, checking them out. There was shampoo, conditioner, and a body lotion. He snatched up the bottle of lotion, uncapped it, sniffed, and recapped it. Suddenly feeling drowsy he returned to the bed with the bottle still in his hand; it clinked against the end table top as he set it down before sliding back into the bed. Without another thought he pulled the covers over their nude bodies, covering them and eventually drifting off to sleep.

 

Illya was awakened some time later. Napoleon’s hands were moving across his body, his hard cock pressed against Illya’s crack. Illya had known that things were headed toward this ever since they had disembarked the plane. He reached out for the bottle of lotion, certain of what needed to be done and equally certain that Napoleon would find it repulsive. If it were not for the look of bliss on Martin’s and later on Rick’s face, Illya doubted he would even attempt it. 

Passing back the lotion, he turned on his stomach and lay still…waiting. He didn’t have to wait long. Hands gripped his hips, pulling his ass in the air. Illya felt his checks parted as a slick and hardened cockhead was positioned at his opening. Napoleon’s breathing was harsh and all Illya could think was that, knowing how Napoleon felt about this, he must indeed be in dire straits. 

Without further preliminaries, Napoleon thrust into him, the pain so sharp that Illya bit his pillow to keep in the scream that threatened to escape. Napoleon was out of control, thrusting in and out with abandon. His palms were running over Illya’s back and rear and not gently. “Ahhhhh, so tight, so frigin tight,” Napoleon moaned and Illya wondered if Napoleon was even completely awake. 

Suddenly the angle of the thrust changed, hitting something inside Illya that brought him up short. “Oh my,” he said in surprise. Was this what it was all about? He shut his eyes, savoring the feeling. Napoleon stopped thrusting, frustrating the Russian who wanted more of the same feeling. As if realizing this, the American started back up again, hitting the same spot on every push. Napoleon’s palms were flat against Illya’s lower back, moving up his side to the chest, pulling Illya’s body upright against his chest into a kneeling position. Had Illya opened his eyes he would have seen himself, Napoleon barely visible behind him, in the mirror hung over the headboard.

Illya’s head tilted to one side as Napoleon suckled his neck, his palms roaming firmly across the Russian’s bare chest down to his groin, all the while hitting that magic button with his cock. Unable to contain his moans of pleasure, Illya moved his hand to cover Napoleon’s as it slid across his groin and cupped his balls. “Pazhalsta,” he moaned over and over, unable to think properly in English. Illya felt the cock inside him thicken as the hand wrapped around his own pushed him over the edge, the sensations growing so intense that he blacked out. 

When Illya regained awareness, he found himself flat on his stomach. Napoleon was lying to one side, lifeless. If Thrush were listening in they could now have no doubts about the two agents’ relationship, Illya thought as he stiffly moved, sliding out of the bed. He slowly made his way to the bathroom and into the shower. Steaming water poured over him as he soaped himself down, vaguely aware of a thin trail of blood dripping down his thighs.

Illya thought about what they had done and how the pleasure had far outweighed the pain. His body tingled as he thought about that pleasure. But what would Napoleon feel about it, he wondered? Drying himself off, he returned to the room too tired to do more than fall onto the bed.

IK&NS

The next morning it was as Illya feared. He awoke to an empty bed. Illya rose, muscles normally unused making themselves felt. A note left on the dresser informed him that his partner was downstairs having breakfast. 

By the time he dressed and made it downstairs, Napoleon was sipping coffee and perusing the morning paper. As Illya sat down, Napoleon greeted him, never taking his eyes off the newspaper in front of him.

Illya placed his order and sighed when, as he more or less expected it, Napoleon soon got up muttering that he would wait in the lobby while Illya finished his breakfast. Napoleon was clearly not prepared to discuss what had occurred during the night, even if he could recall it, which Illya doubted. His partner had seemed unaware of what he was doing at the time, but evidently he had some sense of awareness, since he was unable to meet the Russian’s eyes.

Until they resolved this one way or the other, working together was going to be impossible. Considering both had their minds on other things, it should have been no surprise when the taxi that was called to take them to U.N.C.L.E. Rome turned out to be a trap.

Illya Kuryakin was hurled to the cement flooring. If he had thought his body ached this morning it was nothing compared to what it felt like now. He had no idea how long they had been worked over. The gas that had been used on the two of them had a paralyzing effect, but that had not prevented him feeling every excruciating blow as he had been hammered over and over by Thrush minions. At this point he wasn’t even sure he wanted to survive this. 

From the sounds of it, Napoleon wasn’t in much better shape either. It was hard to tell just how badly, since Illya kept floating in and out of consciousness.

As red herrings he and Napoleon had done their jobs well. Perhaps too well, he thought. There had to be at least four of the opposition and they had been making crude remarks ever since he’d regained awareness. Evidently they had been listening to last night’s tape and were interested in sharing in on Solo’s experience. 

In the back of his mind, Illya supposed that he had known it might come to this. It was with great relief that he felt the darkness descend around him. At least should he survive he would have no recollection of the events. His last conscious thought was that he hoped the original assignment they were covering for was worth it.

IK&NS

 

One blue eye fluttered open, the other swollen tightly shut. He was alive by all counts and lying on a bed. From what he could see it appeared to be an U.N.C.L.E. infirmary.

“Mark, he’s coming to.” Filtered through his consciousness and Illya turned his head to one side to find April Dancer sitting beside his bed. She seemed to be floating in and out of his vision.

Mark, a broad smile on his face, came into foggy view behind her shoulder. “Welcome back, mate. For a while there we weren’t sure you were going to make it.”

Illya’s one good eye blinked as he assessed his situation. Oddly he felt as if he were floating in a dreamlike state. An IV ran to his arm, which was bandaged; in fact it appeared that quite a bit of him was bandaged. There was a tightness in his chest that he was not sure was entirely due to the wrapping of bandages. 

Illya tried to look past April, to the bed beyond. It was empty. He closed his eye, unable to voice the question that was on his mind. He couldn’t have spoken anyway, his throat dry as well as sore, so he slowly turned a questioning eye toward the two agents. 

April bit her lip and looked up to her partner.

Mark’s expression grew somber. 

No! thought Illya, shutting his eye once again and turning his face away, wanting to return to the dark void he had so recently left. A hand on his shoulder brought him back.

“Napoleon’s alive,” April said softly, knowing that was Illya’s first thought.

Relief flooded through him, then ‘were is he?’ filled Illya’s mind.

Mark moved to the window, not wanting to think too hard about it, their rescue had cut it fine, been too close. They had almost not made it in time and Mark couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps they were not supposed to. Both men had been in bad shape, but the Thrush agents, those that survived, had been in worse. He still did not understand how Napoleon had managed to do the damage he’d done considering the shape he was in.

Illya was sinking back into oblivion and just barely caught the words Mark threw out. “He’s in the psychiatric ward.”

IK&NS

A week later Illya was transported back to New York. On good days the nurses would help wheel Illya to a lounge area, where he would sit and while away the hours. Mark and April visited as often as they were allowed. Both were disturbed by Illya’s submissive nature. It was almost as if he had no will at all. He never spoke while they were there, never once showed any sign that he was aware of their presence. 

Neither agent was allowed to make any comments referring to the Russian’s American partner, who was currently residing in the psychological wing, so conversation was limited. April soon grew exasperated and one day, throwing caution to the wind, she gripped the blond man and shook him. “Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, snap out of it. What’s done is done. You have to move on.”

Illya lifted his black and blue eyes to her face, fully focusing on her. “Are you happy now?” he questioned.

“No,” April admitted. 

Illya let out a sigh. “When will I be allowed to leave?”

April was much encouraged. “I don’t know. But it should be soon, now that you are showing signs of life.”

 

IK&NS

It seemed very strange when Illya Kuryakin opened his eyes and found himself not where he had been when he closed them. His first thought was that he was no longer in the U.N.C.L.E. infirmary. For one thing the sheets that covered him were soft, linen by the feel. The comforter was immensely warm and the large mattress extremely comfortable, not at all a hospital mattress. In fact it was almost as nice as the bed in the hotel in Rome. Something about it, though, led him to believe this was not a hotel room.

Illya moved his eyes, keeping his body still. He was no longer wearing the harsh cotton pajamas that he had gone to sleep in last night, but pajamas of a very soft flannel. There was a light on the nightstand that generated a soft glow that didn’t quite reach the edge of the room. The room was large, the curtains drawn. Illya realized he was not alone.

“You’re awake,” a familiar voice said quietly from near a curtained window. 

“Napoleon!” Illya sat up suddenly then sank back down closing his eyes as a wave of vertigo hit him.

“Careful. You’re still not a hundred percent yet,” the voice had not moved closer and Illya opened his eyes, aware of a male shape, hands inserted in the pockets of a robe, standing out against the drawn curtain. Underneath the robe he appeared to be wearing pajamas, silk by the look of it.

“And you are?” A reasonable question, considering the last he’d heard Napoleon was still incarcerated in the mental ward.

Napoleon’s head tilted and a slight smile flashed across his face, the shadow from the dim lighting masking his eyes. “I have been certified sane, if that is what you mean.”

“Forgive me, but all I was told was that you were locked away in the psychiatric ward,” Illya said warily.

The laughter that statement produced sent chills down Illya’s spine. There was no real mirth in it. “Yes, well I guess I went a little crazy for a while there.”

Illya stared intently at his partner, biting his lower lip, feeling uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation when there was another subject that needed to be addressed. “Where am I?”

“Home.” Napoleon was still at the far side of the room, keeping his distance as if unsure how all this was going to be taken.

Illya sat up again more slowly. He adjusted the pillows behind him and looked around the room once again. One thing was certain. “This is not my home…nor is it yours.”

“It is now.” The statement was made most matter-of-factly.

Illya raised an inquiring eyebrow, which brought the American closer.

“I learned a lot about myself while I was…” Napoleon paused to clear his throat. “…away. One of the things I learned was that there was something I wanted and needed.” His gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet the Russian’s blue eyes. “That something was you.” A small smile lit his somber face. “It would appear that I am in love with you.”

Illya’s eyebrows drew up in surprise. Appear? What did that mean? “Either you are or you are not,” he said gruffly, before pausing to say truthfully. “Forgive me but this is not something I expected to hear from you”

Napoleon let out a small laugh. “To be perfectly honest, it’s not something I ever expected to say either and you will probably never hear me say it again. It just took awhile for me to admit it, even to myself.” Napoleon stood there and let out a sigh of relief as if a great weight had been lifted from him. “Also I need to apologize.”

Illya remained quiet.

“What happened, I…I never felt… such a burning…need.” Napoleon’s eyes were distant, puzzled. “I have never felt that way before…never. I was rough with you wasn’t I?” he was finally looking directly at Illya. “For that I apologize.”

Illya was taken aback by the sincerity of the apology. He shrugged, trying to make light of it. “Perhaps it was the wine.”

“Perhaps.” Napoleon sighed as he sat sideways on the bed, one leg drawn up flat upon the mattress. “No, it was just an excuse. An excuse to do something I wanted but never dared.” A twinkle appeared suddenly in the dark eyes as if they couldn’t resist teasing. “Besides, you seemed to enjoy it. Admit it.”

“Must I?” Illya asked, blushing as he remembered doing just that. “How would you know?”

A broad smile grew on Napoleon’s handsome face and he nodded to the mirror that hung above the headboard. “There was a mirror there too.”

Illya tilted his head back, astonished, and slightly embarrassed by his find. He had not remembered the mirror and could only imagine what it had shown. He looked away, trying to process the information. This place was neither his home nor Napoleon’s but theirs? “This is ours?”

Napoleon nodded, his expression apprehensive.

Illya thought about it and could only feel doubtful. “And you are…okay with this?”

A gentle, almost shy, smile bloomed across Napoleon’s face. “I’ve spent two weeks…two hellish weeks…working my way to this point.” Actually it had taken more time than that. The first week or so he had no memory of. The rest of the time, when not in sessions with doctors, he had plenty of time to think and come to some realizations. “No one was more surprised than I was when the truth was pulled out of me.”

“And Mr. Waverly…he too is okay with this?” Illya frowned. His natural inclination was to think he must be dreaming all this.

“Well…no. But he’ll adjust. He just asks that we be discrete. I had to promise not to hump you in the halls.”

“Napoleon!” Illya pretended to be shocked. Napoleon’s sense of humor was abominable. He looked around the room. The room was tastefully done, not his taste of course, but he could live with it. He wondered what the rest of the apartment looked like, wishing he could see it, but a month’s time spent in a hospital bed had left him feeling too weak. Was the rest as nice as this?

Almost as if he could read Illya’s mind, which Illya would not put past him, Napoleon proceeded beguilingly. “Wait until you see the rest of the place. It’s not large but we have a study with plenty of bookshelves and a state of the art sound system. The living area has a fireplace, and this bedroom connects to a nice size bath.”

“You said this bedroom?” Illya asked slowly, wanting to be sure he understood. “Is there another?”

“No, just the one.”

Illya contemplated that answer for a few moments. “And what is it you plan for this bedroom?”

Napoleon blanked his face, not wanting any hint of what he had planned to escape. “Currently you are to rest. The doctors were most insistent upon that,” he continued virtuously. “Besides you are not up for anything strenuous.”

Illya raised an eyebrow. “Exactly what would I be up to that would be strenuous?”

Napoleon reached over to lay a hand on Illya’s arm, wanting some connection as he confessed, “I would like to experience what put that look on your face.” A look of such unbridled ecstasy that it was forever burned in Napoleon’s memory. It shocked him to realize that anything that could produce that amount of enjoyment in his partner was something he too wanted to experience. He moved closer, planning to initiate a kiss.

The moment was spoiled as Illya’s stomach chose that moment to growl. “I hope a kitchen is here also.”

Napoleon took the change of subject with good grace, after all Illya was not up to anything yet. “Oh, yes, but we probably won’t use it much. Our new abode is located over a restaurant.”

Illya was curious to know which kind. Italian? Chinese? French? Surely not Greek? But he was even more curious about something else. He assessed the room once again, taking in the quality of the furniture and the fact that the study contained, according to Napoleon, a state of the art sound system. That did not come cheap. “All this must cost a pretty penny. Just how are we to afford this?”

Napoleon laughed, a delighted laugh, as if at the best joke of all. His eyes twinkled as he rested one hand on the other side of Illya and leaned forward. “Well, it seems our assignment, the report of which you will find waiting on your desk when you have sufficiently recovered, was more important than we thought,” Napoleon informed him. “We own not only this apartment, but the whole building – free and clear.” Then he laughed again at the look of shock on Illya’s face.

Patting Illya on the arm, Napoleon reluctantly got up from the bed and moved toward the door, pausing to ask. “In the meantime what would you like to have to eat?” 

“Anything,” Illya said majestically as he settled more comfortably in the bed. He was definitely going to like it here. Then he felt constrained to qualify his request. “Anything, that is, except herring.”


End file.
